


New Beginnings

by Heather_Night



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, POV Derek, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8822608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: The steel door slid open to reveal a black clad figure wearing a black baseball cap, pale arms exposed.  “Time’s a-wasting, let’s go.”
Derek gaped at Stiles.
With his supernatural enhanced eyesight, Derek could make out Stiles’s quirking an eyebrow up.  “Unless you’re enjoying your stay, that is,” the human rumbled with a deep, husky voice.
Springing into action, Derek followed Stiles.  “Please lead on.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had two similar prompts on my Hurt/Comfort Bingo Card--Imprisonment and Falsely Imprisoned--and this one serves as the more traditional offering featuring Derek behind bars and the pack engineering a jail break.

Derek leaned against the back wall of his tiny cell, his ass aching from sitting on the too thin mattress barely covering the steel ledge making up his bed. It was a good thing he was a werewolf otherwise he’d probably develop bedsores from this treatment.

Since this was a maximum-security facility he at least didn’t have to share his cell with anyone else. Nope, Derek had these luxurious accommodations all to himself including the steel ledge bed, sink and toilet. He had the illusion of privacy since there were no bars in the cell, only concrete and steel.

Derek thunked his head backward, smacking it against the concrete wall. He’d talked to Cora two days before he’d been picked up and processed for crimes against humanity— _snort_ —and he wasn’t due to talk to her for another twenty-four days. A lot could happen in twenty-four days and Derek didn’t like his chances of making it out of this alive. Cora was the only person he regularly talked with and that was down to a once a month phone call. It looked like his antisocial ways might just be the death of him.

The trapdoor in the steel door opened and his mid day meal made an appearance, shoved through on a mechanical arm coated with wolfsbane. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Yum.

“Lunch is served,” the prison guard drawled.

The prison guard sounded a lot like Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall’s quirky best friend.

“Come on, Prisoner Number 503, I don’t have all day,” the guard—Stiles—prodded.

Derek took his sandwich and carton of milk, grateful it wasn’t that nutraloaf crap they sometimes doled out. This wasn’t enough to sustain his shifter metabolism but it was something to take the edge off.

“I’ll be back later,” Stiles said and Derek choose to take the words as a promise.

What was Stiles Stilinski doing working in a supermax facility? The super referred as much to the population housed in the building—supernaturals—as it did to the level of security. Either Stiles had turned against Scott and Company and was putting his knowledge to use against them or something was going on here.

The steel and concrete didn’t screen out the noises of the other inmates, much to Derek’s chagrin, when some of them resorted to self satisfaction at night, so he could easily here two other inmates buzzing over the new guard.

“His voice is so smooth and deep…I’d like to wreck it by thrusting by dick down his throat.” Thing One shared.

“I bet he’s got a sweet ass to go along with that voice. What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on that!” Thing Two joined in the smack talk.

Derek shuddered at the thought of any of these shifters getting their hands on the pale skinned, scrawny human. Although it had easily been six years since he last laid eyes on Stiles. For all Derek knew Stiles was dough faced and one hundred pounds overweight by now.

The sandwich and milk were consumed in two minutes.

Settling back on the cot, Derek let his mind wander. Stiles had always been feisty but he’d been willing to back up his mouth with that baseball bat of his. 

There had been the time Derek had almost forced Stiles to cut off his arm to stave off the wolfsbane poisoning. Then the whole paralyzed by the Kanima situation while Stiles kept him afloat in the high school swimming pool. Or the time Stiles had brought his bat to the hospital, willing to fight off the Alpha Pack.

A smile quirked his lips for the first time since Derek had been thrown into this prison.

He didn’t know what Stiles had planned but Derek was pretty certain it would add excitement to his current routine.

-0-

The dim lighting in his cell blinked and then went out.

The steel door slid open to reveal a black clad figure wearing a black baseball cap, pale arms exposed. “Time’s a-wasting, let’s go.”

Derek gaped at Stiles.

With his supernatural enhanced eyesight, Derek could make out Stiles’s quirking an eyebrow up. “Unless you’re enjoying your stay, that is,” the human rumbled with a deep, husky voice.

Springing into action, Derek followed Stiles. “Please lead on.”

The lights came back on, coinciding with the crackle of Stiles’s collar microphone.

The disembodied voice commanded, “Prison Guard Number 303, status report. Over.”

Chris Argent. Derek would recognize that voice anywhere. 

“Cell Block 300 secure. Over,” Stiles responded.

“Copy that. Over,” Chris answered back.

Stiles keyed off the mic while they kept moving.

“Um, what’s the plan?” Derek whispered. He wasn’t sure he should be making any noise.

“The plan is to get you out to the exit team,” Stiles flashed a lopsided smile at Derek. “Preferably without any incidents.”

Derek continued to follow the lithe human in front of hum. Stiles was trim and lightly muscled…definitely not overweight. Derek sputtered, “Why…how…what the hell is going on here?”

Stiles cackled and Derek saw traces of the teenager from yesteryear. “We’re breaking you out of prison, doofus. Crimes against humanity, my ass. You want to talk about crimes against humanity, what the hell was the gray colored slab of loaf they were passing off as dinner? I call it nutracrap.”

The other prisoners where pounding on the steel doors, yelling, and otherwise raising a ruckus.

The overhead fluorescent lighting blinked and then cut out again.

“Ut oh,” Stiles sighed.

“I take it this isn’t a part of the plan?” Derek questioned although he was pretty sure he already knew the answer based on the way Stiles’s shoulders bunched and his spine straightened. 

“Nope,” Stiles answered, popping the p in that irritating way he had. Derek had to concede it no longer irritated him.

A new voice chimed in to their new conversation. “There he is! I want that ass!”

“Crap. Come on,” Stiles urged.

The human sprinted forward, Derek following on his heels but they ended up turning into a dead end.

“Sorry, first day on the job,” Stiles apologized as he keyed the mic. “Assistance needed outside of Block 300. Over.”

“Copy that,” Chris answered, his voice steely.

Feet pounded behind them and Derek shifted to beta form, stepping in front of Stiles.

“That never gets old,” Stiles shared. For someone whose life was being threatened by marauding shifter prisoners, the human seemed to be keeping his panic in check.

Derek felt movement at his back and something floated through the air, settling in a circle around them.

Mountain Ash.

“Nice,” Derek slurred through his lengthened incisors.

“Look-y here, not only does the Spark have a sexy voice but he’s cute and smells fantastic. I call dibs!” A voice called out.

Three prisoners turned the corner, colliding with the barrier, bouncing off of it harmlessly.

Derek recognized Thing One from the cell next to his. Based on the way he carried on when talking through the walls to the other inmates, Derek was pretty sure Thing One hadn’t been falsely imprisoned. 

Thing One backpedaled and disappeared around the corner, leaving the other two thugs to skulk around the barrier, snarling.

Derek’s muscles rippled, threatening to complete the shift to full wolf.

“Easy, Derek,” Stiles settled a hand on Derek’s shoulder and squeezed. “Help is on the way.”

“Not quick enough,” Thing One growled. His beta shift face was ugly with an overly pronounced ridge running down his forehead. 

A projectile flew through the air. Derek batted at it and knocked it down but more followed in its wake.

Derek turned his back to the other werewolves, hunkering over to protect Stiles. One of the projectiles slid past Derek’s defenses, colliding with the human’s forehead. 

Stiles’s eyes rolled up into his head and he sagged, only Derek’s arms keeping him from landing on the tile floor. 

Derek concentrated his senses, relieved to detect a heartbeat and steady respirations coming from the lax body in his arms.

Metal missiles continued to fire at him, embedding into his back, but as long as Derek protected Stiles he didn’t care.

Drawing Stiles into his chest, Derek debated what to do. He could lay Stiles on the ground but he’d have to stretch out over him to protect him.

Stiles choose that moment to stir in his arms. “M okay.”

The fluorescent lighting sprang to life, blinding Derek. At least the others would be at an equal disadvantage.

The buzz of electricity sang through the air and Derek heard the thumps of bodies hitting the tile. One. Two. Three.

“Stiles?” Chris barked.

Derek turned around, Stiles still clutched in his arms, leaving the beta shift in place.

“Yup,” Stiles slurred as he staggered out of Derek’s grip. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

Chris’s observant eyes took in the oozing wound on Stiles’s forehead and his slumping form but he didn’t say anything.

Stiles narrowed his eyes, looking around, before asking, “We good to go?”

“Roger that,” Chris responded, smiling.

Lurching forward, Stiles broke the Mountain Ash line. “I hope you know the way to the exit. It didn’t go so well when I navigated,” Stiles sounded rueful.

“Braeden is looking up the schematics now. Let’s go,” Chris grabbed Stiles by the biceps before nodding at Derek. “Good to see you again, Derek.”

Derek flexed his back, popping out the bits of metal the other werewolves had flung at him. When it felt like he was foreign object free, he shifted back. “Definitely happy to see you, too,” he murmured as he stepped over the downed werewolves. Whatever Chris had hit them with must’ve packed a wallop.

Remaining alert in case he needed to step in and carry Stiles, Derek continued to be impressed with the human. Despite his injury he was moving under his own steam, and moving quickly.

After jogging for about ten minutes, through many twists and turns, the three of them burst out into daylight.

“Halt or I’ll shoot!” someone’s voice bellowed through a megaphone.

The three of them stopped in their tracks, raising their hands above their heads in sync.

Chris hissed softly. “Stiles?”

“On it,” the younger man replied.

The smooth pale skin exposed by the black short-sleeved shirt of his uniform morphed into both brightly colored and black-and-white tattoos that seemed to swirl and move across the exposed epidermis.

Derek focused on the red and silver dragon shaped tattoo sliding down Stiles’s arm. Without warning, fire flared from the dragon’s mouth. 

It looked to Derek like about fifteen men had them surrounded and all fifteen of them dropped to the ground as the fire burst over their heads.

Stiles flexed his right arm and the lightning bolt zigzagging down that arm exploded outward. 

The men on the ground all twitched as if one organism, the guns and rifles in their hands clattering to the blacktop. Derek could smell singed hair but all of the men seemed to be breathing. They also stayed down.

Stiles grinned, first meeting Chris’s eyes and then Derek’s. The smile morphed to a look of pain and Derek quickly wrapped an arm around the younger man’s waist. 

Stiles put a hand to his forehead and then pulled it away, staring at the blood smeared across his fingers with distaste. “Time to go?” his deep voice sounded faint.

Chris bolstered Stiles from the other side and the three of them headed into the staff parking lot.

Scott McCall poked his head out of the driver’s seat of a Correctional Transport Van. “All aboard!” he sang out, white teeth flashing against his tanned face.

A young woman with long brown hair stuck her head up out of the passenger seat window and glared across the top of the van. “Move it, guys! We don’t have all day.”

Malia Tate. Derek’s cousin. He liked the attitude.

Braeden ran across the other side of the parking lot, long hair streaming behind her. She, too, was clad in the black correctional staff uniform.

The three humans and Derek all piled into the back of the van.

The van roared to life and they shot out toward the exit. Braeden handed Malia her ID Badge. “Use that to open the gate.”

Everyone held their breath as Scott rolled to a stop, swiping the badge. The gate opened and they hit the road.

Braeden slapped her knee. “I jammed their communications system. The staff at the gate have no idea there’s been an escape.”

Chris squeezed her shoulder. “Good job, Braeden. Things went about as smoothly as they could.”

“If you don’t count me getting clocked in the head with—what the hell was that anyway?” Stiles turned his head to look at Derek. The two of them had ended up on a bench seat together, Derek’s arm around the human, keeping him upright. He might’ve also been using the pain-drain as well as offering support and body heat.

“I think they dismantled the food cart but that’s just a guess,” Derek answered. “Can I ask how you were able to, uh, disguise all of the firepower?” Derek gestured to the tattoos that were mercifully no longer moving.

Stiles still looked pale but he visibly perked up at the question. “I used a glamour to hide them so they would hire me. They were so happy I was a spark and could manipulate Mountain Ash that they didn’t really pay attention to much else. Apparently it’s difficult staffing a facility with humans who a) know about supernatural beings, and b) can protect themselves against them.” 

Chris cleared his throat. “Stiles has quite the aptitude for magic. He’s what we call our big guns.” The older hunter sounded paternalistic and proud.

Scott interrupted the conversation in the back of the van. “We’re going to switch out vehicles at the next police station. Parrish and Lydia are waiting with a different van for the next leg of the journey.”

Derek was in awe of all of the effort these people had put into his rescue. “I don’t know what to say,” he said, quietly.

“Let me catch my breath and then I’ll fill you in on everything. I’ve got plenty to say,” Stiles elbowed Derek in the ribs. The two were snuggled together and the gesture had been playful but the tone held a huskier than usual note.

Derek’s nostrils twitched lightly.

If he wasn’t mistaken the human nestled into his side was attracted to him. That was quite a coincidence since Derek had realized the same thing as he’d run behind the humans, admiring Stiles’s fine ass.

-0-

“So, you’re a free man?” Stiles questioned Derek.

“Yeah, Uncle Peter got them to drop the charges. I have to ask, who thought a once dead psychopathic werewolf would make a good lawyer?” Derek asked. His head was still spinning at the events of the last forty-eight hours.

His rescue team had remanded him into the custody of the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department while Peter Hale, Attorney at Law, secured his freedom.

“I think that was Malia actually. She pointed out Peter had a natural affinity for arguing and that he could put those talents to good use and make money. I think Peter took it as a challenge and wanted to show his daughter he could do it. They have a, um, unique relationship,” Stiles explained.

Scott, Malia, Jordan and Lydia pulled up chairs around the two round tables they’d pushed together. The bar wasn’t busy so no one was around to complain. The Sheriff and Peter were at the bar, placing an order for pitchers of beer and a round of shots. Chris and Braeden were bickering at the dartboard across the room.

“How long have they been an item?” Derek carefully elbowed Stiles while staring at the hunter and the mercenary. He’d found himself naturally gravitating toward the younger man who had given him hope and then rescued him from that hellhole.

Malia piped up. “Oh, they’re not together. Yet. We’ve got bets going though if you want in on the action.”

Derek smiled at his cousin. He definitely liked her attitude.

Sheriff Stilinski and Peter made their way over to the tables, laden down with trays filled with alcohol. They meted out the shot glasses filled with a golden brown liquid—whiskey. 

Peter raised his shot glass, making eye contact with everyone at the table, his gaze lingering on Derek. “To new beginnings.”

Everyone echoed the sentiment, downing their shots. 

Derek enjoyed the burn of the alcohol as it made its way down his gullet and into his gut.

Someone fired up the jukebox and a slowish song began to play. Derek didn’t recognize the song but the group sounded familiar. Green Day?

Scott and Malia followed by Jordan and Lydia rose to their feet and headed toward the dance floor.

Derek decided it was a time for new beginnings. “Dance with me?” he asked as he turned to Stiles.

The younger man looked surprised but he also looked very happy. “Delighted.”

Snagging the large hand in his own, twining their fingers together, Derek propelled Stiles on to the dance floor.

Some of the lyrics caught Derek’s attention.

_Outlaws, when we were forever young_  
_When we were outlaws_

“Who selected the song?” Derek grumbled.

“Someone with a sense of a humor, I’d say,” Stiles replied, letting Derek draw him into his arms.

The two swayed back in forth, staring into each other’s eyes.

“Do you think you’re going to stick around for a while?” Stiles asked, chewing on his lower lip. His face was flushed a pretty pink.

Derek stared, deciding he wanted to be the one to chew on those lips.

“Yeah. I should have come back to Beacon Hills a long time ago. I didn’t know what I was missing,” Derek declared.

Stiles brushed his lips lightly across Derek’s. “I say we fix that.”

Derek lost himself in the dance…in the moment…in Stiles’s pretty eyes.

He’d been moving around on his own for so long he wondered if staying in one place, staying in this place, would be hard.

Stiles nudged with his chest and his hips until the two were no longer just rocking back and forth but were now turning in circles.

From jailbird to outlaw to new beginnings.

It sounded like coming home.

 

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> This fills the Falsely Imprisoned prompt in my attempt to achieve blackout on my Hurt/Comfort Bingo Card. I like the idea of Stiles being the secret weapon of the pack and the humans doing the heavy lifting on this little caper.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
